Binding the Tides
by An Elemental Realist
Summary: The chorus gossips raucously among the birds who ensnare the sky. Their voices shatter the Peace Walker's hesitance, and only further his quest. Auron Centric. Double Shot.


A/N: For those of you who aren't familiar with Auron -- this will explain a couple of things for you. For those of you who are -- enjoy. ^_^ I've been taking my sweet ass time on this piece.

Story Type: Centric

Character(s): Auron

Entries: Two

Genre: Action/Tragedy

Style Type: Present Tense

Perspective: Third Person

* * *

. . . **B**_inding the_ **T**_ides . . . _

**1**

Intro: The Wish

_I can hear your heart cheer… Why do you insist, Mortal?_

The chorus gossips raucously among the birds who ensnare the sky. Their voices shatter the Peace Walker's hesitance, and only further his quest. "Lady Yunalesca, you're a fool to believe in such petty fancies. Sin can and will be stopped!" The Peace Walker's heart flutters with valor -- periodically calling forth every last shred dignity that remains fresh. His sword races onward, streaking across the Queen's deck. However, its will to compute remains an incessant enigma.

"Auron…!" a passionate cry intrudes! "You can't do this! You've still got your whole life ahead of you, kiddo!" The enticing elixir chills the rage of the tiger, but the fire catches the slack.

_Je peux entendre battre votre cœur… [French Trans: I can hear your heart beat.] Why do you insist, Mortal?_

…Her Grace pleads for diplomacy: "Surely a human of this caliber will make an excellent addition to the Sons of Yevon. Come, my child… Make your wish." The Peace Walker's blade arches forth -- to meet the sight of its treasured flesh, but its master smiles bitterly. "Wise choice, my fated friend," says the Queen.

Her lips curl with indignity, but her feet stay as they are. …The Peace Walker's qualm makes an unexpected twist: "This is my story, and you're not a part of it!" The Queen lets a defiant cackle surmise before reaching up to the nocturne-lit skies. A gentle current kisses the sight of her palm, but teases its weight with a nauseating swish…

_I can hear your heart cry… Why do you insist, Mortal?_

"Auron," a summoner beckons. "You mustn't be so naive; I beg of you!" The Peace Walker grins uneasily yet again, gently maneuvering the tense rose with a swift pitch of tune. The audience continues to cry harmoniously, as if a prayer seems to be a rather heart-engrossing notion of spirit. "Auron…"

"I will not forgive you for what you did to Braska!"

_Je peux entendre mourir votre coeur_... _[French Trans: I can hear your heart die...] Why do you insist, Mortal?_

**2**

Part I: The Bloody Scarlet

The mornings are much too redundant for the bloody scarlet, but who could blame 'im, eh? 'Says that their soul robbers, but mostly heart stompers. "This is my story, and you're not a part of it." The man's eyes lie secretly behind his favored pair, but his jaw flaps him a new hole. Its thunder sounds furiously through the light of the hollow, but its weight falters sluggishly with news of the storm.

"We can make a deal – then," says the hideous body of flames. "I'll let you continue your little path, if you do me a _real quick_ job. How does that sound, ol' boy?"

"Sorry," says the bloody scarlet," but my services aren't for sale…" 'Has always been that damned promise that got in the way. It's not an act of desperation nor an immoral measure of one's self-integrity, but rather – a wish. For as long as the man lives, he will remain faithful to this oath. Never will he slay again…not for a soul. Not after his encounter with the Queen, of course.

There had been blood on his hands…and surely the grief was much too poignant to bear. His revenge had been soured, and his life had been granted a new. No longer was he a guilty servant, or a marauding soldier. That appears to be figment of a very horrific past. ...Perhaps the wise man's absence played a huge part in the Peace Walker's game. "Wise clown, eh?" He nods plainly at the blind inferno, and drifts off into abyss of the dead man's tomb. A body follows in utter annoyance. "Well, I've got your life in my hands. What do ya say to that, champ?"

The bloody scarlet swallows in the agony, and paces onward. A large smile stretches across his withered lips.

-

"So you're Auron, you said?" the young boy asks casually. "I'm Sora!" His arm ascends into the steady darkness with a rather quick reach. Auron returns that same favor.

. . . A rather lovely gesture follows, but its winds reject the simplest of offers. "This… is for the fallen!" Though they remain civil hunters, their blades entwine for one powerful gust. The riotous beasts depreciate into the belly of the atmosphere as their hearts eventually find a home elsewhere. …Could this be last of them, the boy in black wonders to himself?

"Fight," the scarlet-pierced male cries! "Catch up with your thoughts later!" The army of fiends grows in the hundreds, but the keyblade bearer merely exaggerates his power with a fatal slice to the source. …Another calm approaches with time, and this one stretches a great while.

The brown-haired boy rejoices calmly. "Thank you for your help," he praises kindly. "We needed all hands…"

Auron smiles warmly. This time, however, his wits delay the parade: "There's no time to waste," he adds. "I can hear his dogs a foot away." And so they bolt onward, with the spirited boy's companions taking the lead.

**3**

Part II: The Wielder and his Crowd

The afternoons are much too depressing for the swordsman in red, but who could shame 'im, eh? 'Says that they're unpleasantly devious. "Your smile reminds me of a friend," speaks the wielder in black. "Have you, by any chance, seen a short guy with silver hair -- named Riku?" It's a smirk -- more than less, but the boy's optimistic outlook makes up for his fractured wits.

"No," the swordsman answers vapidly, "but he seems like a close companion of yours. Is that true?"

An expectant glare protrudes from the red man's gaze, but slips once the boy wrestles the words that correspond. "You mean Riku? Yeah, I guess that you can say that. We've been searching for him for a while, though."

"Whose we?" Although it is plainly obvious who 'we' seems to be, the swordsman's inquiry is nothing short of a consistent array of vivid memories.

"_We're_...Sora, Donald, and Goofy!" the passionate wielder shrieks. "How about you?" His eyelids dance in a stunning disposition of charm. Oh, how the swordsman envies such bliss...

"How clever... And in that order?"

-

_. . . _**T**_o be_** c**_ontinued . . . _


End file.
